


Shake and Bake

by Ebyru



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Awkward Conversations, Bromance, Claiming, Control Issues, Crack, Crack Pairing, Crossover Pairings, Fingerfucking, First Time, Flirting, Humor, M/M, Marking, Mating, Multi, Pack Dynamics, Partner Swapping, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Public Claiming, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rimming, Scenting, Snark, Spoilers, Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:49:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebyru/pseuds/Ebyru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn’t want to be accused of being Cas’s boyfriend anymore. So he kind of, sort of, maybe, hangs out with another supernatural creature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chance Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd. 
> 
> Edit: I will be working on a second part shortly. :) But this could still be read as a oneshot.
> 
> Inspired by this quote:  
> “And along a long street’s  
> majestic emptiness under the moon:  
> one hand on the angel’s shoulder, one  
> feeling the air before him,  
> eyes open but fixed . . .”

When Dean is fed up of hearing people say ‘the angel in love with you’, ‘profound bound’, or worse even, ‘the flasher who looks head over heels’, he storms off. He doesn’t tell Sam where he’s going – he’s good at figuring that stuff out – and he certainly doesn’t give Castiel any chance to ask to tag along.

Castiel is his best friend, and they’ve never even considered crossing that line before. Just because Dean is used to the lack of personal space doesn’t mean he wants to go over that invisible boundary, to taste Castiel, to let himself be taken over…He shakes the images off.

It’s worse than when people used to think Dean was dating Sam. (Now they all assume it’s Cas sharing Dean’s bed, though.)

 

\---

 

Dean is finishing up his pie and leaving some small town diner, trying to figure out where the nearest liquor store is, when he notices a Camaro parked outside.

“Hey, baby,” he tells the Impala. “You found some worthy company? I hope he was treating you right while I was gone.” Dean strokes the hood of his car.

A tan-skinned man with a leather jacket and faded jeans - who goes by the name of Derek Hale - takes that moment to step out of the convenience store. When he hears Dean’s conversation, he raises a brow, and asks, “Are you talking to a car?” He takes out his keys from his pocket, and slides them in the Camaro’s door, not waiting for an answer.

“That’s yours and you _don’t_ talk to it?” Dean huffs out, laughing. The man seems like he’s trying very hard not to laugh, or maybe he’s just constipated.

Derek would just glare and leave – usually. Everyone in this town wants something from him; wants to learn his secrets or call the police on him. But something’s different about this one, besides the fact that he’s not from around here. Derek isn’t sure how he knows – maybe a perk of being the Alpha – but he has a feeling Dean is someone older; someone he should look up to and learn from. He shouldn’t dismiss him just yet.

Castiel appears between them, and Dean tries very hard to pretend like he’s shocked. You can’t let everyone know angels exist; not everyone’s ready for that kind of knowledge. He sure as hell wasn’t.

“He is a werewolf, Dean,” Castiel announces in his guardian-like tone (that Dean hates). He takes up a fighting stance, putting himself between Dean and the stranger.

Derek growls a bit, holding back his snarl. He’s not bothered by Castiel appearing out of nowhere – okay, maybe a bit – but he’s a bit hesitant to get closer.

Dean doesn’t blame the guy for standing his ground; escaping would be dangerous (and mostly pointless). Also, it’s probably better to feign innocence than to let everyone know werewolves exist, Dean thinks. Not that the stranger is doing a very good job of hiding his _fangs_.

Dean shoves Castiel aside. “Don’t worry about the nerd-angel. He’s a bit of a stalker.” And there goes the information he was trying to keep on the down-low. Son of a _bitch_.

Derek gapes, fangs definitely on display. “Angel?”

His eyebrows do this weird, angry wave thing, and Dean is fascinated by it. Castiel could never show that much emotion on his face.

“You know, those things with wings that most people think are nice?” Dean explains, mockingly.

“Dean,” Castiel warns. “Do not insult my kind due to a select few.”

Dean scoffs. “I’d say it’s more than just a few.”

Derek narrows his eyes; they flash to red for a second. “ _Angel_?”

“Just…take my word for it,” Dean adds, a wry smile on his face. “I’ve seen more than you can ever imagine, dude.”

Derek nods, but his frown doesn’t go away. At least he was right about this man being different from everyone else in Beacon Hills.

“But I gotta ask. Are you really a werewolf? You don’t seem like the ones I’ve met so far.”

Derek crosses his arms over his chest, looking insulted. “How were the ones you saw?”

Dean doesn’t pause. “Ugly.”

Derek somehow looks even more insulted, but a wave of colour slowly starts climbing his neck. And, _of course_ , Stiles has to have found him right at that moment. He parks his Jeep next to them just as the man looks like he wants to say something else.

Stiles rushes towards them, expecting to have to break up another fight. “Hey Der- _whoa!_ ”Derek doesn’t look as stiff as usual. That’s a good sign. “You actually took my advice, and found some new friends?”

Derek growls at Stiles, but he’s not bothered by it.

Castiel, though, tries to step in front of the innocent bystander to protect him from the werewolf.

Dean rolls his eyes. “So now it goes by whoever’s younger? I’m too old to be killed by a werewolf?”

Stiles barks out a laugh. “I’m used to being shoved against walls and things, man.” He pats Castiel’s shoulder. “I’m tougher than I look.”

“You are the weakest among us,” Castiel deadpans, brows knit.

Derek grins, and Stiles makes an undignified sound. “Thanks a lot!”

Dean snorts, shaking his head like this happens all the time. And…it kind of does. “Don’t take it personally, kid. He’s still kind of bad at telling a lie.”

Stiles glances over at Derek, quirking an eye. “Who are your friends, Derek? They seem kind of…old.”

Derek grumbles, sighing. Sure, Stiles is trying to protect him or whatever, but Derek is the Alpha, and he can use his instinct to sniff out enemies. Stiles doesn’t quite have that yet.

“I don’t know them, Stiles,” he answers truthfully. “But I don’t need you here to worry; I can take care of myself. Go home. The pack’s probably waiting in the den already.”

Stiles’s eyes bulge. “You – you want me – me who has no wolf powers, claws, teeth or strength, to watch your wild pack on the full moon?”

“Consider it your initiation. You’ve been wanting to join for a while, right?” Derek’s gaze is glacial, daring Stiles to disagree. Dean and Castiel exchange a look, but say nothing.

“That doesn’t mean I want to die trying!” Stiles protests, scrubbing a hand over his short hair roughly. “Jesus, this is revenge for all the times I’ve tried to get you arrested, isn’t it?”

Derek snarls at that, fangs protruding and crimson eyes glowing. “Don’t you dare pretend like this is their first full moon! I’ve been through many with them already. You just have to babysit and make sure they don’t kill _other_ people.”

Dean clears his throat. “I don’t mean to – uh – cut in, but maybe Cas here could give him a hand? I mean, angels can be dicks and all, but he’s definitely there when you need him.”

Castiel ignores the insult in favour of accepting the compliment. “Thank you, Dean.” He stands up straighter, looking to Stiles and Derek. “I would not mind being of service, if it is Dean’s wish.”

Derek wants to laugh so badly. Dean trained an _angel_ to listen better than Derek has trained a bunch of sixteen year olds. He could definitely learn a thing or two from Dean. Derek nods, peering over at Stiles. “If he agrees.”

“An _angel_? Did I just hear right? Holy – wait no, that’s blasphemy. Shit, I’m already going to Hell, aren’t I?” Derek growls at that, and Stiles sucks in a breath. “Yeah, sure. I – I can get used to the idea of an angel helping me babysit Betas.”

“And, you look like you could use a drink,” Dean tells Derek. “Why don’t you help me find a liquor store, and we can hang out. I’m Dean, by the way.”

Derek shakes Dean’s hand, and replies, “Derek.” A tiny smile appears on Derek’s face, much more genuine than the one he gave that officer, and it blows Stiles’s mind. Is this the same Derek who throws people through walls?

“So, booze?” Dean asks, hopeful.

Stiles opens his mouth to tell Dean that Derek can’t get drunk, but thinks better of it when Derek’s fangs flash in the sunlight. He swallows down the bromance jokes he wants to make, and turns to Castiel – who seems to be gone.

“Where’s…” He trails off when Dean points to the Jeep. Castiel is sitting in the passenger’s side. “Oh my god! When did he – how did he –”

“Angel,” Dean replies, sounding a bit smug. “Have fun.”

Stiles climbs in the car, turning to Castiel, and giving him an awkward smile. “So, I guess I don’t need to tell you to buckle up.” Castiel pulls the strap across his chest, clicking it into place. “Huh.”

They drive off, and Dean tries not to worry about how awkward Castiel is going to be.

Derek tilts his head towards his car. “You wanna--” He swallows down the tension, the nerves, in the pit of him. It’s the first time he’s going to be alone with a human who isn’t Stiles. “--use mine?”

Dean considers both sides before saying yes. For one, the Impala has been overworked today – since he’s been driving all morning trying to get his frustration out. (His stupid brother with his stupid _Dean, if everyone’s saying it, did you ever wonder if it’s true?_ bullshit. Sam is a bitch like that.)

But, then again, it’s his _baby_. And he loves her; knows how to make her purr. Hell, he could even convince Derek to get his own Impala. He looks over at the Camaro. He hasn’t driven one of those, and that one is really nice. In fact, when will he ever get the chance to be in one of those again? Also, it would be awesome to save some money on gas; they’ll need it for the next town they go to…

“Only if I can drive,” Dean tries, flashing Derek one of his winning smiles. He’s not really serious, but there’s no harm –

“Sure.” Derek throws the keys at Dean, and Dean catches them, awestruck.

“Really?” Dean asks, sounding a bit like that overactive teenager from before. Stiles, was it?

But it’s just so unexpected. He’d never let anyone – save for Sam, Castiel and Bobby – drive the Impala. Derek doesn’t even know him, and he handed his keys over without a thought. It’s like Christmas came early.

“I see how you treat your car,” Derek explains, “I’m not worried.” Not like he would be if it was Stiles driving. That kid is a maniac. That’s why he needed a Jeep; it’s the only vehicle that could handle his spastic behaviour.

“Dude. _Awesome_.” Dean grins, locking the Impala. “Just … give me a second.”

Derek raises a brow, but waits, leaning against his car door.

Dean strokes the hood of the Impala. “Well, baby, looks like we’re going to be apart tonight. I’ll make sure no-one hurts you, though. I promise,” he whispers, hoping Derek doesn’t hear.

When he looks over at him, Derek is smirking. Damn, there goes that sliver of hope.

“Ready now?” Derek asks, walking around the front of the car.

Dean takes in a deep breath, the excitement of being behind the wheel of the Camaro making his pulse flutter. “Oh, yeah.”


	2. Full Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Dean try to resist the pull between each other, while Stiles and Cas don't even know it's there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I don't know what happened - but this got way out of hand. lol.
> 
> Still un-beta'd, so if you see any huge mistakes, feel free to let me know.
> 
> Inspired by this:
> 
> “There are a hundred places where I fear  
> To go, --so with his memory they brim!  
> And entering with relief some quiet place  
> Where never fell his foot or shone his face  
> I say, 'There is no memory of him here!'  
> And so stand stricken, so remembering him!”

After Derek lets Dean take a scenic route around town, they decide to go to a local bar instead of just a liquor store.

They wanted to go elsewhere, but Sam is still probably at the motel – Dean tells Derek right away that he’s his brother, so he won’t get any ideas – and Derek says his house needs a lot of work done on it.

And of course the den is out of the question, seeing as it’s the full moon and there’s a bunch of young werewolves gathered there. (Plus, Dean is trying to avoid spending _more_ time with Castiel than he already does.)

Dean agrees to the bar idea because, honestly, he doesn’t know this Derek guy well; he could skin Dean alive if they end up alone somewhere. And bars are something Dean knows intimately. He could maybe hustle some people at pool while he’s there.

 

\---

 

Needless to say, Dean has no idea how drunk he is. They’ve been chatting about nothing in particular, and drinks have been coming his way – all thanks to Derek’s generosity. He’s not worried about being drugged or anything, though, because the hunter eye never truly goes away. He’s been watching Derek’s hands, and they haven’t touched any of Dean’s glasses – even to simply slide it over.

It’s comfortable; Derek is a charming guy when he isn’t in close proximity to that teenager. And Dean is good at talking to everyone, especially when he doesn’t have to convince them he carries a badge.

“So, you’re a hunter? There’s a family here that hunts werewolves. The Argents,” Derek says, the name almost cutting on his tongue.

“I go after whatever is killing people: vampires, werewolves, ghosts, demons. You name it,” Dean slurs in response, knocking back a shot of whiskey. He hisses with it, not used to such quality alcohol.

“And you’re here because…” Derek asks, hoping none of his pack has been off killing deer or anything too blatantly obvious. He’d have to reprimand them, though, and that parts always fun for him.

“A ghost, probably. My brother’s doing the research today, so I can’t say for sure.” Dean winks, adding, “I took a day off.”

Derek stirs the contents of his glass, absently. “So did I.”

“Awesome,” Dean says, flagging the bartender down for another shot.

Derek pushes Dean’s arm down gently when he lifts two fingers. “No, I’m paying. It’s on me.”

“Dude, it’s been like two hours and I haven’t paid a single round. Let me get this one or something.” Dean chuckles, taking the glass from the bartender when he comes back.

Derek just shakes his head. “I can afford it.”

Dean sighs, feeling grateful but kind of overwhelmed by the gesture. He likes being able to pay his own things, to be independent. And Derek is a nice guy; Dean would like to give him something in return for not spitting his name like he did that Argent family.

“Just, let me do something to repay you.”

Derek starts to shake his head then stops when he thinks of something. “You can just keep me company. I haven’t had a moment to breathe in a while.”

“Sounds familiar,” Dean says, laughing. His face is starting to heat up, and Derek’s sitting closer than he remembers. Or maybe it’s just the booze messing with his head. “But sure, I can do that.”

As time passes, more people start coming in, making the bartender panic until he sees his co-worker come through the doors with a guilty expression on his face.

Dean looks around, curious mostly, while Derek is busy texting someone in his pack. There’s a slew of hot women all around where they’re sitting. There’re brunettes with gorgeous, long hair, blondes with dark, brown eyes, and don’t get Dean started on the redheads. They are tall, curvy and very, very down-to-earth.

For a moment, Dean spaces out. He’s picturing one of them sitting in his lap, learning the inside of his mouth. But then Derek startles him, a gentle hand on Dean’s shoulder.

Derek’s brow creases; he can smell arousal all over Dean. Maybe he wants to leave with someone. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah.” Dean grins, nodding over at the one who had him caught in a daydream. “You see that girl? Man, she is something.” He nudges Derek with his elbow, trying for playful and friendly, but almost falling over instead.

Derek holds him steady, pushing him back on his stool. He looks over at the girl; frowns because he knows she’s easy. He’d hoped Dean wouldn’t go for women like that. “Yeah, so I’ve heard.” He sounds bitter even to his own ears.

Dean watches Derek, raising a brow. “You don’t think she’s hot?” He’s pretty sure Derek doesn’t swing both ways - like Dean often does.

People are people to Dean; he doesn’t really think about what’s between their legs. It’s about how they talk, move, dress. He can appreciate beauty, okay?  He’s an artist in his own way. But the way Derek is, comfortable with himself and just a bit rough around the edges, that’s not someone Dean thinks is gay.

He hopes he’s wrong, though.

“I think she’s attractive on the outside only,” Derek snaps, guzzling his glass of brandy.

Dean gapes, watching the werewolf swallow it down like it’s nothing but water. That shouldn’t be a turn on, right? Derek wipes his mouth, fangs slightly pressing into the wet lips…God, is it ever a turn on. Dean needs to leave, very soon. Or think about something else.

Derek orders another for himself, looking over at Dean who’s wearing an odd expression on his face. When he sniffs, the arousal is still there, but he’s looking at Derek, not the woman. It doesn’t mean it’s directed at Derek just because he’s the focal point, though, does it? This is why Derek doesn’t bother with flirting.

“You want a beer or something? You seem pretty gone.”

Dean swallows, glancing back at the table with the buffet of hot chicks. “Yeah, I think I should slow down if I want to take one of them home.” _And not you,_ Dean thinks. But, if it was an option, he’d really like to take Derek home.

Derek makes this half-grunt, half-growl noise in the back of his throat without meaning to. _Damn_ , he’s being so obvious. Dean probably thinks he’s a sleaze who took him out, and got him drunk on purpose so they could have a one-night stand after. But anyone, even the people who barely know Derek beyond the fire, would know he isn’t like that.

Dean chuckles softly, sipping at his beer. “Is that agreement or disapproval? ‘Cause I gotta say man, I’m too drunk to tell.”

Derek doesn’t want to lie for some reason, even though he’s done it countless times in the past couple of years. There’s just something upfront and genuine about Dean that makes it hard for Derek to lie. So, Derek says nothing, pretending to be distracted by his cellphone.

Dean blinks a few times, trying to keep the room from moving in and out of focus so he can get a good look at Derek’s expression. He looks…unhappy. Usually, Dean wouldn’t even pay attention to it unless he planned on getting in his pants, but Derek is someone who Dean thinks he’d – maybe – hang out with again. If ever he’s in town.

“Did I say something wrong? Do you not like chicks?” Dean grips the neck of his bottle, waiting for something to hit him. A fist most likely.

Derek scowls, but it’s mostly directed at the woman standing behind Dean, surely five seconds away from asking Dean if he wants a drink.

Dean tips the bottle back, nearly choking on the beer when Derek’s eyes flash red. “Whoa, dude. I’m not saying you’re gay. Don’t get mad.”

“I like girls fine,” Derek grits out, throwing daggers at the woman until she backs away, frightened that she might become Derek’s appetizer.

Dean does cough then, seeing the fangs elongate, pressing against those full lips. God, those _lips_ …His cock twitches in his jeans. Fuck.

“So, are you dating that Stiles kid then?” he blurts out, unthinkingly. Let it be known, Dean cannot hold his thoughts back when he’s thoroughly drunk. And there’s a hot supernatural creature in his midst, that’s not trying to kill him for once.

Derek scoffs, pressing his palm to Dean’s back when he nearly tips over again. “No.” And as an afterthought, “Why does everyone think that?”

Dean’s eyes get comically wide. “You too, huh?” He laughs, feeling more at ease already. “Man, if I had a dollar every time someone thought I was dating Cas or my brother, I’d be richer than Bill Gates.”

Derek snorts at that, his features turning back to human. He starts to move his hand away, but feels Dean move into it, seeking the touch. “You don’t mind?”

“People thinking I’m gay? Not really. People thinking I’m incestuous, hell yeah.” Dean sips at his beer, contemplating what Derek just asked. Did he get that wrong somehow?

Derek is laughing, and it feels pleasant. It’s natural and good-natured, something he hasn’t felt in a while. “I meant me touching your back. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Dean is watching him with an unreadable expression, though, the smell of sex practically leaking off of Dean now. He _needs_ to drive Dean back home soon before the full moon starts making him crazy.

“Nah, it- it’s fine,” Dean admits with a tight smile. He glances away, trying to force the images of Derek’s lips around his cock out of his head. What is _wron_ g with him? Does the full moon affect humans, too?

Dean bumps his shoulder against Derek’s, smirking. “I can get pretty touchy-feely when I’m drunk, anyway.” Wow, that sounds dirty. Inappropriate. Dirty _and_ inappropriate.

Derek’s lip curls up at one side, and he bumps Dean back gently. “That’s good.” _What._ What is he _saying_? Dean is going to run out of here any second now…Especially when he notices Derek is not even close to drunk. Stupid werewolf metabolism. At least if he was drunk like Dean, he couldn’t be blamed for pouncing on him.

Conversation is stilted after that. They both don’t want to hit on the other, but that’s the only thing that keeps popping up in their mind when they look at the other. So they drink in silence, and Dean pretends he isn’t getting a boner just from looking at Derek’s lips on that glass, while Derek tries not to smell all the pheromones Dean’s letting off like some goddamn Axe commercial.

Finally, grateful for a distraction, Dean says, “I have to take a leak.” He tries to stand, and nearly head-butts Derek in the process. Derek’s smile is both shy and really attractive. It kills Dean a bit inside.

Derek uses Dean’s drunken antics as an excuse to put his hands on Dean. And, _wow_ , is that ever a mistake. He can feel the arousal all over Dean, rippling through his skin – much like the rippling muscles in his back and sides – and it’s going to take a miracle for Derek to let him go.

“Do you need me…” He trails off when Dean nods, not even waiting for the end of the sentence. “--to help you get there, I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you were saying. I’m pretty sure I won’t make it there _without_ your help.” Okay, now Dean just sounds desperately horny. Is the night over yet? Where’s Cas? Shit, he shouldn’t even _think_ his name, he could pop in suddenly.

Dean waits a moment, trying to mentally cancel the ‘prayer’, but Derek is already gently pushing him towards the men’s bathroom. There’s a few near-falls, Dean toppling over like a tower, but Derek’s hand is always there, firm and warmer than sunlight. _Jesus Christ,_ is Dean a girl now?

It’s as good as any excuse for Derek to follow inside, waiting behind Dean in case he starts to lean to one side, the other, or you know, back into Derek. But mostly it’s to avoid Dean cracking his head against the tiled wall or the porcelain urinal. Safety first.

Dean stretches his neck a bit, glancing behind, and even in his drunken bliss, he notices Derek’s gaze dart away. “See something you like?” It’s just a little bit of a tease. There’s no harm in it, right?

There’s a growl nearly out of Derek’s throat until he snaps his jaw shut. His tongue is nearly bitten in half from the speed of it, but thankfully he heals. His brain, however, isn’t as cooperative as his muscles. “Yes.”

Dean scoffs, shaking his head. Okay, so Derek flirts too. Big deal. It doesn’t mean anything. Dean is the biggest flirt on the planet, and he’s only serious half the time. He chuckles softly, giving Derek a saucy wink.

Dean’s getting his pants up - slower than usual - zipping them, strolling over to the sink. Derek is leaning against the stall door, watching him. Trying to be casual, Dean watches Derek back in the mirror while washing his hands. He can’t be blamed for trailing his eyes down Derek’s body quickly, really. He’s standing there like a gorgeous, modern statue. Derek’s eyes flash red, and Dean’s cock strains, presses in close to his zip, begging to be near all that…awesomeness.

Werewolves are a lot of things, but blind they are not. Derek saw the way Dean practically undressed him with his eyes, smelled the way the arousal shot up when Derek tentatively displayed his Alpha ability; he knows Dean’s hot for him. And Derek is not one to pass up a good thing.

Dean barely has time to dry his hands before he’s being spun, pushed back against the sink, and ground into like he’s a human scratching post. Derek is sucking at Dean’s mouth, claws barely human enough to slither in the back of Dean’s jeans to drag him in closer. Their lips are raw, burning with how rough the kiss is, and all Dean can think is ‘how long before I’m sober?’

 

X---X

 

“So, what’s it like being an angel?” Stiles asks, trying very hard not to throw ten more follow-up questions at Castiel. It’s not every day you get to meet someone, something rather, that’s from Heaven.

“Tiring,” Castiel replies plainly, looking out the window.

Stiles waits, but Castiel doesn’t continue. “Um. Okay. So, why do you hang out with Dean? Is he like your friend or something? Do angels have friends? Can you have friends? I’d like to be your friend.”

Castiel clears his throat, brows knit. “I am allowed friends, yes. Dean was my charge at first; I found his soul in Hell, and brought him back to Earth to be a saviour. That was a long time ago.”

Stiles glances over at Castiel, then again, then does a triple take. “What? Dean was in _Hell_?”

Castiel frowns, folding in on himself. He doesn’t want to discuss Dean and his _wondrous_ existence tonight. Dean is elsewhere, most likely enjoying himself. Shouldn’t Castiel be allowed a day to just sit in silence and be of help if needed?

“Okay. Guess you don’t want to talk about that. My real name isn’t Stiles, by the way. Everyone just has problems saying my real name. You know, my best friend is a werewolf, that’s why I got into this whole mess. If it weren’t for him, I’d be back home right now eating pizza and drinking coke, killing losers in Halo 3.”

Castiel’s frown deepens, but he doesn’t say anything. Stiles continues rambling, about everything and nothing, hoping one of the things he’s said will make Castiel talk, but nothing does.

“Do you like cookies? I think I still have some in my school bag if you’re hungry. Oh wait, do angels need to eat? Probably not, right? Oh! We’re here.” Stiles drives as close to the entrance as he can, and turns off the engine. “Well, welcome to the den, Castiel.”

“You can call me Cas if you wish. I’ve gotten used to the appellation.”

“Okay, cool.” Stiles steps out of his Jeep, and Castiel trails behind, eyeing the dark steps like they might break under his weight. “I promise it’s not as sketchy down there as it looks up here. Plus, I might have to warn you: sometimes the pack gets very--”

“Stiles, get back!” Scott grabs Stiles, and drags him away as the other Betas rush toward Castiel, claws and fangs bared, ready to attack.

“--protective of me,” Stiles finishes, trying to weasel his way out of Scott’s grip. God, this is embarrassing. Mainly for them.

Castiel blinks once, arms flat to his sides, not moving a muscle besides his eyes. “Good evening.”

Erica snarls, eyes glowing amber and just as bright as her long, blond hair. Boyd’s claws start getting longer, his shoulders hunched as he steps up to where Erica is standing, prepared to lunge at Castiel when she is.

Stiles manages to squeak out, “Guys, I’m fine. He didn’t kidnap me or anything--”

Scott growls to shut his friend up, and Erica and Boyd follow the older werewolf’s lead. With a nod of his head, Scott makes Isaac appear from a dark corner, stalking over to Castiel with his face already in full wolf form. Jackson is flossing his teeth when he notices everyone wolfing out, and joins in just as quickly, growling louder than everyone else.

Stiles starts to protest – Castiel not doing a very good job at helping to avoid a fight – when footsteps sound from behind the entrance stairs.

“Guys, you’re not being very polite to our guest. Stiles already said he isn’t a threat. Unless you’d like him to be - which I don’t recommend,” Peter says smoothly, smiling at Castiel in passing.

He stands in front of Castiel, his back to him, crossing his arms. “I know you guys haven’t been training that long, but this is ridiculous. You should be able to sense when you’re outmatched.”

Scott sputters, letting go of Stiles. “You’re saying we should run?”

“I’m saying you should listen to Stiles. He seems to be the only one with any sense.”

Stiles would be appreciative of Peter’s words, if he hadn’t tried to turn him – again – for the hundredth time this year. He always waits until Derek and Scott aren’t around. But, on the bright side, having a werewolf with experience around is amazing. He can help keep them under control; Scott and Stiles alone aren’t enough to keep the wilder Betas back.

Preparing to slip off upstairs with Castiel, Peter grabs Stiles’s arm. “Where are you going? I’m not staying. Derek told me to keep an eye on the pack until you got here.” Peter grabs his coat, and saunters up the stairs, leaving Stiles with his jaw hanging to the floor.

“Well, thank you Hale family,” Stiles mutters, glaring at nothing in particular.

Castiel moves from his spot finally. “I can handle them, Stiles. Do not fear for your safety.”

Scott reaches for Stiles to yank him back, but Stiles doesn’t let him. “Dude, he’s an _angel_ , not a freakin’ Kanima. No offence, Jackson.”

“Bite me, Stilinski. You know I didn’t have any control over that,” Jackson spits, going back into the hidden room to continue his beauty ritual. Or whatever he spends hours doing in front of the mirror. Maybe cursing Stiles with a mini voodoo doll made of hair.

“Angel?!” Scott half-shouts, half-squawks. “Stiles, man, where do you find these things?”

“You’re one to talk, werewolf victim number one,” Stiles retorts. “Besides, _Derek_ is the one who found Castiel.”

Scott pushes past Stiles, getting a closer look at Castiel. They have an odd stare-off for a few moments, until Scott has to blink. “He’s making my eyes water for some reason.”

“Certain supernatural creatures are affected by my grace,” Castiel explains, gazing at each of the wolves watching him with fear and curiosity. Scott rubs his eyes. “I believe you just waited too long to blink, however.”

Stiles laughs, patting Scott on the back. “Dude, don’t hurt yourself before we even get everyone else chained up.”

“I didn’t! He’s bright! You don’t see the – the glowy thing around him?” Scott looks to Erica, who just shrugs, and Boyd, who grins unpleasantly. Isaac isn’t much better when he throws Scott a sympathetic look. “He’s bright, I swear!”

“Okay, buddy. Don’t worry. I’m sure he is,” Stiles says, squeezing Scott’s shoulder gently.

Scott sighs, looking back at Castiel. “What are you doing here anyway? Did Derek send you? I’m perfectly capable by myself--”

“Dude, no you’re not. And I don’t want to be alone with you guys when I look most like a human-shaped steak,” Stiles cuts in, chuckling. “Besides, Jackson is going to raise hell, and we all know it. You see how he is when it isn’t the full moon, and this is only his third.”

“I’ll make sure to keep you in mind if I need a snack, Stilinski,” Jackson calls from the back.

Erica whispers something to Boyd, but before they can ask, Castiel flickers from his spot all the way to right in front of them, looking bored. “Is that proof enough of my nature? Or would you like me do something more?”

Boyd swallows, peering at Erica. She elbows him, and he swallows again before saying, “No, that’s fine. We believe you.”

Scott calls to Jackson, “Did you hear? He’s an angel.”

“Yes, I heard it when it happened five minutes ago, thanks.” The light goes off, and Jackson comes out, cuffs already on his wrists. “Now, someone better hook these somewhere for me.”

Isaac smiles at Castiel, ignoring Jackson. “Nice to meet you. I never thought I’d meet an angel. If you two need any help tonight, let me know.”

“That is very kind of you, Isaac.” Castiel dips his head politely.

“How do you…Wow.” Isaac’s eyes seem to glitter with fascination. “You’re really an angel.

“Indeed I am.”

Isaac’s eyes dart from Castiel’s face to his chest, over his shoulders, but he can’t see the glowing that Scott was talking about. “Am I too new?”

“Perhaps you are trying too hard. Allow me.” Castiel raises two fingers to Isaac’s forehead.

Stiles raises a brow. What exactly is going on with the pack? Scott is still rubbing his eyes, Erica and Boyd aren’t necking like usual – too busy staring in awe – Isaac is having his brain scrambled or something, and Jackson is acting as if angels pass through Beacon Hills every week.

Isaac sucks in a breath, and his eyes snap open. “Oh my god. W-what was that?”

“Just a glimpse of my true form. It’s dangerous with humans, but with a supernatural creature, less so.”

“You’re…amazing,” Isaac says, dreamily, almost like he’s still seeing the image in his mind.

“I am but a mere shadow in comparison to the archangels. It is a pity many of them have died.”

Scott stops rubbing his eyes to ask, “Archangels can die? You can die?”

“I can, yes. In fact, I have a few times already.”

Jackson sighs, shaking his cuffs. “Hello? Am I invisible? The moon’s going to be up soon.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, but he and Scott get to work. Castiel only stands by, and leans down at times to check the chains and their efficiency.

Erica and Boyd only need to be bound by their wrists, whereas Jackson requires head, wrists and ankles. Scott doesn’t need anything, and Isaac prepares himself a spot just in case it turns out he needs to be tied down after all.

 

\---

 

“Are you gonna be okay? I have to go pick up some things at the store for my mom. She just left me a message.”

Stiles smiles, putting his arm around Scott’s shoulders. “Nah, I have an angel and Isaac. We’ll be fine. Right, Isaac?”

Isaac leans against the wall, offering his most sincere smile. “Yeah. I can just growl if Jackson or one of the others tries to escape.”

Scott frowns for a second but nods. “Okay, just text me if anything goes wrong.”

“What could go wrong with Castiel around?” Stiles says, winking Castiel’s way. “Go, do some chores then go for a run. We’ll be okay.”

 

\---

 

When Scott leaves, the moon slowly starts going up, and Stiles is counting down the seconds until Jackson starts his fit. It’s amazing how someone who should be as controlled as Scott – who is Derek’s 2nd in command, by the way – tears up the den each time the full moon comes around. Stiles is praying this time will be the time Jackson finally gets a hold on his emotions, but he has a feeling it won’t be.

There’s a room Derek set up upstairs for them to nap when it’s daytime or after school before pack meetings, and Stiles intends to use it. His dad won’t be home until tomorrow afternoon, since he has a double shift, and Stiles spent all last night mentally preparing for tonight. So now he’s thoroughly and completely drained.

Castiel follows Stiles upstairs, and offers to keep them back if Isaac calls for help. “You are young and need your rest.”

“Everyone is young compared to an angel,” Stiles quips. Then it hits him: how old is Castiel, actually?

“I lost count after the first few millennia,” Castiel replies. “My apologies, I did not mean to impose upon your thoughts.”

“No, no. That’s fine. It wasn’t personal or anything.” _Wasn’t anything like wondering if you’ve seen me up in Heaven jerking off to trannies or if God has. Oh my God. He probably thinks I’m the biggest pervert alive now._

“I assure you, Heaven is not as strict as human media depicts it. And regarding your sexual preferences, most of my kin are indifferent to sexual orientation.”

Stiles makes an abortive little movement with his hand, and decides it’s better not to ask anything else. He tries to keep his mind blank of more embarrassing thoughts. “I’m just gonna…You know, sleep.”

“I understand.”

 

\---

 

Meanwhile, rather than calling for help like he promised he would, Isaac is sitting on Jackson’s chest, trying to secure his chains with one hand as the other presses claws into Jackson’s throat and shoulder. He overheard Stiles’s conversation, and doesn’t want to interrupt his sleep if he can avoid it. No matter what Stiles says, he’ll come running right with Castiel if Isaac needs help. That’s just how he is.

 

\---

Stiles is drifting comfortably for a while, feeling safe for once. How much more protected can you be than with a freakin’ angel watching you while you sleep? Stiles stretches out, humming with sleepy contentment when the cool sheets make his skin tingle. Castiel is like a ghost in the background, not moving, breathing, blinking…Stiles’s eyes slide open, and Castiel is staring at him from a corner of the room. Okay, maybe it’s not so great to be watched over in your sleep.

Turning over to face the opposite way, Stiles sinks into the bed again, trying to find that perfect dent he’s made in the fabric. He’s just about slipping into a dream, almost ignoring the burning in his skull that means Castiel hasn’t stopped looking, when--

“I must attend to the werewolves downstairs,” Castiel declares, a flutter of wings the only sound he produces before he’s gone.

Stiles sits up, scrubbing his hands through his hair. He’s going to regret not helping if something happens. Castiel could be too rough with them, or one of them could get hurt fighting with another. Also, this is Stiles’s initiation; he needs this to go well so he can officially be in the pack.

Scrambling down the stairs, Stiles watches as Castiel carries Erica and Boyd  by their scruffs, easily securing them back in place with a …something. Stiles doesn’t know how he manages to get their chains back on when his hands are busy holding them still. Mind powers maybe?

And wait a second, wasn’t Isaac supposed to warn-- _Hello_.

Isaac has his head thrown back in pleasure, his hands digging in messy brown hair, Jackson’s mouth all over his cock while he straddles Jackson’s chest. It’s maybe a bit more than Stiles needed to ever know about his pack. But hey, between killing and fucking, this is definitely the lesser of two evils.

Stiles tilts his head when Jackson’s cheek stretches with the force of Isaac’s next thrust. He shouldn’t be taking mental notes, should he? Isaac growls, writhing closer, and Castiel stalks toward Stiles with a pained look on his face. Yeah, probably not.

“Should we – uh – do something about them?” Stiles asks in a very high voice. Is it even his own voice?

“Isaac is distracting Jackson. If I interfere, Jackson will most likely come after you – since you are the weakest among--”

“Yes, thanks. I remember. Gotcha.” Stiles forces a smile, feeling his heart pound in his chest. He really doesn’t need to imagine being chased by Jackson, naked, with a boner, during the full moon. And…he just did.

Stiles’s phone chimes in his pants, and he’s almost afraid to slide it out. Castiel makes the phone appear in Stiles’s palm and waits. “It’s a message from Scott,” Stiles tells Castiel. “He says he can come back now if we need help.”

“It is your decision. This is a test meant for you,” Castiel says, sounding serious and deeper than he should be considering there’s a werewolf behind them getting his dick sucked.

Stiles takes a deep breath, trying to find some semblance of courage. When he looks over at Castiel, and he hasn’t even broken a sweat, Stiles feels kind of stupid. They don’t really need help; Stiles is just prone to panicking when big, shiny teeth are pointed in his direction.

Stiles replies that they’re fine, and for Scott to go on that run now. _And don’t go by Allison’s house, you stalker. You’re broken up._

 

_\---_

Instead of going back to bed, Stiles brings Castiel to the common room where Derek put a TV, and a couch for the pack to relax on.

Stiles sits first, and Castiel reluctantly follows. He feels more at ease when he can stand and pace. He never quite feels as comfortable folding his vessel in the way humans can and do. It will probably take a few more years until he can endure all of these positions.

Stiles is searching for something to discuss, and he looks so miserably tired that Castiel decides to help.

“Why have you not been turned like your friends? You mentioned Scott was your best friend earlier. Wouldn’t it be more convenient if you were one of them?” And not to mention less life-threatening. Regardless of how careful they are, Stiles will always be most vulnerable; most likely to be kidnapped or killed.

Leaning over, Stiles pulls his laptop out of his school bag and puts it on the table in front of the couch. When his laptop starts up, Castiel wonders if Stiles is trying to distract him, or if he’s simply ignoring the question altogether. But then Stiles pulls up a website, and points at it.

“This is what I do,” he says, “I look up everything they need, all the details, ways to prevent turning in public…I’m good at this. I like this part. What I don’t like so much is the hands-on stuff.” Stiles chuckles, rubbing his neck. “I guess you noticed I wasn’t very good at physical stuff, though, huh?”

Castiel considers Stiles a moment. He’s very smart, observant, caring. He’s a good person with decency and loyalty. He’s funny, too. Or would be if Castiel was more in touch with human humour. But, regardless of that, Castiel can tell Stiles is witty and sharp; he’s just like a perfect blend of Dean and Sam. It’s fascinating.

Castiel finds himself smiling before he can help it, and Stiles’s shoulders relax. He’s glad that Castiel understands him.

They end up watching videos of the Betas that Stiles took with his phone a few months ago. Like that one time when Scott went out of control, and tried to steal all the ice cream in a five block radius. (Stiles kept it as evidence in case Scott decided to murder him for luring him away from his frozen treats.)

Castiel is still smiling, which Stiles takes as a good sign, so he shows him more. Like the one where Jackson insisted a shirt belonged to him, and nearly tore the chest apart as soon as Erica claimed it was hers.

Eventually, Stiles runs out of blackmail material to share with Castiel. But Castiel says he has something to share in return.

Castiel presses his fingers lightly against the laptop screen, and a group of young adults appear. Stiles is so taken aback by the angelic powers – yes, he kind of forgot Cas was an angel in the last hour – that it takes him a moment to realize they’re running away screaming from Castiel. Castiel is in the video, and being hilarious without meaning to be.

“Wow, you move that fast?”

Castiel disappears, and reappears with a pillow in his arms. “Yes.”

He hands it to Stiles, and Stiles can’t help but feel privileged and kind of holy. Why else would an angel be bringing him stuff?

By the end of the video, Stiles has learned more about supernatural creatures than he’d really like to. “You have an interesting sense of humour. You’re funny without even trying.”

“I – thank you. Dean always tells me I need to loosen up.” Castiel’s brow creases, his hands curling in his pants.  He hadn’t meant to bring up Dean. Maybe Stiles doesn’t like him, and this will dampen his mood. He hopes not, because Stiles is a very positive young man.

“Have you ever seen Legion? Somehow I feel like you could be in that movie.” Stiles clicks through links in his folders, adding, “On the good side, of course.”

“Is it about angels?” Castiel asks, tilting his head.

“Yeah. Badass, world-saving angels.” Stiles grins, putting the pillow behind them so they can both use it. “Lean back, Cas. It’ll be better that way.”

“All right.”

Castiel lets his back press against the pillow, prepares to say there’s no difference to him, and then Stiles leans back as well. Then everything changes.

He likes the gentle buzz he feels from being next to Stiles, their shoulders touching lightly. Stiles may not be as human as he thinks, even if what makes him special isn’t overtly obvious. It takes an angel to feel it, after all. And even then, it took physical contact. Or perhaps this is just what it feels like for Castiel to be able to relax with someone who trusts him. It’s nice to be trusted by someone who isn’t a Winchester.

Stiles settles in, and doesn’t move when Castiel’s hand brushes against the side of his leg sometimes. Castiel thinks he likes that, too.

 

\---

 

The movie is only halfway done when Stiles passes out. His head is leaning on Castiel’s shoulder, mouth slightly parted, and skin so pale Castiel wonders how often he spends in the den. It’s such a warm area where they live.

Castiel closes Stiles’s laptop, and transports him back to the bed he was using earlier. He drapes the blanket over him, tucks it in neatly, and allows his fingers to linger for a moment on his back. The buzz is still there, and instead of fading, it seems to be getting stronger. It takes a lot of will, but Castiel draws away, preparing to leave. Stiles had too much difficulty resting earlier when Castiel was watching.

Just as Castiel reaches the door, Stiles whimpers in his sleep. It seems, just like Dean and Sam, Stiles is plagued with nightmares he cannot rid himself of.

Castiel feels bad for leaving him alone in this room when he’s so distraught, so he sits at the end of the bed, trying to give him some ‘personal space’. But, unlike Dean, Stiles doesn’t stir or jolt awake; he doesn’t seem bothered with Castiel’s presence there.

Stiles’s breathing changes, gets slightly faster, and Castiel knows he’s waking up.

Stiles squints, trying to see if Castiel is still around. When he notices him sitting on the bed, stiff as ever, Stiles taps at the side of the bed he’s not using. He hopes this isn’t crossing any lines. It’s not like Stiles knows what Castiel does, how he lives, but he seems to be mostly…human.

Castiel stands, and instead of leaving, he walks around the side of the bed to climb in. Stiles lifts the blanket for him to climb in, and he does. Stiles is glad he’s been getting better at reading emotions because Castiel is like Mona Lisa.

Falling back asleep only takes a moment once the warm body settles in next to Stiles. He’s only partially aware of how close he’s moved, and where his mind is going when he feels the skin of Castiel’s palm. But he can’t be blamed; he’s still just a teenager.

He can’t help remembering how sweaty and noisy Isaac and Jackson were  - it was the first time he’d seen two naked people, besides porn and the lacrosse locker room - and his body begins to stir, roll against Castiel slowly, still mostly asleep.

Castiel doesn’t know how to react; he tries waking Stiles, tries telling him what he’s doing, but Stiles continues, whimpering Castiel’s name this time. It’s surprising, but Castiel realizes Stiles is still dreaming from how close he’s curling up.

Castiel’s afraid to see what the dream is, so he does the next best thing. He moves closer to allow Stiles to throw a leg over him, and Stiles cracks an eye open finally.

“Why do you have your coat on in bed?” His voice sounds sleepy, comfortable, and definitely aroused.

Castiel strips down in the blink of an eye, leaving only his boxers on. He never noticed they were white with navy stripes. That’s new.

Stiles gawks. “Whoa, you’re… _hot_.” He wants to touch, let his hands roam over that bare skin, even though he already has his leg all over Castiel’s hips. “Can I?”

Castiel tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “It’s just a vessel. You may do as you please.” He tries to explain about his true form, but Stiles isn’t paying attention. “It belonged to a man named Jimmy Novak--”

“Uh-huh.” Stiles’s fingertips carefully follow along Castiel’s shoulder and collarbone; he licks his lips.

“--he was a very good man. He is in Heaven now, but I’ve been given a vessel with the same physical appearance.”

Stiles looks up into Castiel’s eyes, hearing nothing that the angel is saying. His fingers splay on Castiel’s chest, relishing the tingly feeling he gets. “Mm, I see.”

He’s too interested in touching all that pale, smooth skin to even ramble on like he usually would. Only Castiel’s face and head have hair, the rest of him is as void of it as a newborn. It’s _amazing_. Especially when all your friends are werewolves.

Castiel stays very still, not sure if this is all right, or if he should be reciprocating. There’s no point for him to talk because Stiles has clearly stopped listening, but what can he do? No one’s told him how to react, and he hadn’t gotten very far with Chastity at the Den of Iniquity before she threw him out.

Stiles gasps softly, so sweetly, his eyes pleading, when Castiel tentatively curls his fingers around Stiles’s hip. Then Castiel gingerly strokes Stiles’s forehead – seeking truth, information, permission – and that just makes Stiles’s breath catch again. Castiel can’t say no. Not after what he’s seen; all the hardship Stiles has been through. All the courage and strength he possesses in this slight body. So he doesn’t.

There’s a question left unanswered for Stiles: does Castiel want this? But he’s never really been one to look before leaping, has he? He presses a kiss to Castiel’s palm when his fingers slide along his cheekbones, cupping his face.

Why is it that Stiles always wants to be around things that are beyond him?

Castiel’s brow crinkles in an adorable way, and Stiles can’t wait anymore. He drags Castiel in, wrapping his thighs around his hips, forcing him to stay in place and just take everything Stiles has to offer – or until he disappears again. Whichever comes first.

Surprisingly, Castiel doesn’t try to escape; he leans in to each touch, lips perfectly sealed over Stiles’s, participating a hell of a lot more than either of them expected. Even Castiel’s vessel is starting to wake up – the bulge in his boxers leaving a warm, damp spot on Stiles’s loose jogging pants. Stiles really wants to touch it, or at least for Castiel to touch _his_ erection.

It may have been spoken aloud – Stiles isn’t sure when he’s busy sucking on Castiel’s tongue and wondering if he’s supposed to get hard at the thought of him being older than Jesus – because Castiel is sliding his hand down Stiles’s pants, stroking soft and gentle, squeezing just a bit tighter when Stiles whimpers, and Stiles --

Stiles is an inexperienced teenager, okay?

\--Stiles is coming his fucking brains out, right in his pants, screaming and soiling a goddamn a _ngel’s_ hand, and fuck. It’s the hottest thing he could ever imagine. He’s going straight to Hell. Right after he figures out how to breathe again.

Castiel just watches Stiles catch his breath, slowly stroking, almost petting Stiles’s flaccid cock. He would very much like to experience the same thing, but his own needs are irrelevant right now. Stiles seems to be struggling for air, and Castiel can’t command his vessel to stop kissing the young man; he tastes like something to worship, to be enjoyed and touched reverently. And Castiel suspects his time on Earth has skewed his morals somewhat, because he’s more than willing to perform any and all illicit acts Stiles wants – if he simply asks.

“Wow – that –” Stiles breathes out, flexing his fingers in Castiel’s hair, nuzzling his stubble. It’s softer than it looks. “Are angels _allowed_ to have sex? Did I just ruin your life?” His eyes get wide. “Please tell me I didn’t just make you get banished from Heaven.”

“Yes. I am allowed. Do not worry. I enjoyed myself very much.” Castiel presses forward, letting his hips rest snugly against Stiles’s.

“Y-yeah, I can feel that. Just – gimme-” Castiel kisses him, nipping his bottom lip. “Oh my god, do that--” Castiel sucks on Stiles’s tongue, warm fingers splayed underneath his sweater. “Oh, and that --” Castiel rocks his hips in, humming when his erection makes contact with something beginning to swell. “ _Fuck_ , Cas.”

“I would enjoy that very much,” Castiel murmurs, rolling on top of Stiles to press him down into the bed, needing to be closer. He traps Stiles’s hands above his head, leaning in for another sultry, wet kiss.

Stiles grinds up, trying to time it just right to feel that slick heat against his hip when his shirt rides up, and throws his head back on a silent moan when the clothes is suddenly gone. These angels are dirty; Stiles is in no way objecting to that newfound knowledge.

Clearing his throat from the doorway, Isaac asks, “Am I interrupting? I heard Stiles scream from downstairs.”

The door’s open, even though Stiles recalls it being shut at one point. Or maybe it was in his dream.

Isaac leans against the doorjamb, a devious look in his eye, and a smirk to match. Oh, and, half naked while he’s at it.

“I was coming to check on Stiles, but I guess you have it under control,” he teases.

Stiles reaches for Castiel to hide under – since he’s not sure where his clothes has been sent, and werewolves are way too comfortable in their birthday suits - and whines when Castiel’s clothes is already back on. “I wasn’t done with you!” Stiles protests.

Castiel swallows. His throat literally bobs inches from Stiles’s face, and he is so tempted to sink his teeth into that flesh. So, very tempted. But he doesn’t because he’s a good kid. Well, maybe not particularly _today_ , since he’s corrupted a holy creature.

Castiel frowns, and looks over at Isaac. “Can you take a step back please?” Isaac does, quirking an eye. Even he wouldn’t want to challenge an angel’s authority.

Castiel flicks the door shut in Isaac’s face, and he snaps his fingers to make his clothes disappear again.

Stiles’s mouth falls open, getting a delicious taste of Castiel’s tongue and teeth when he dips down for a kiss. He doesn’t even wait until they’re done making out before he says: “This is…awesome!” It’s muffled by Castiel’s lips, but Stiles thinks he feels Castiel smile anyway.

X---X

Dean can’t help kissing back just as frantically, mind swimming, drunk off of more than alcohol. Derek is eating him alive in a public bathroom, claiming him right near the entrance, eyes flashing constantly to red. If Dean isn’t careful, this could get out of hand really quickly.

Derek is scared the full moon will make him harsh, too strong; more animal than he wants to be. The last thing he wants is to scare Dean away because this should, really, never stop. When he tries to step away, and Dean won’t let go, it lets Derek know that Dean feels the same.

“Do you have somewhere…” Dean says between kisses.

Derek gnaws against Dean’s pulse, thrusting his hips in close. “Yeah, but you won’t like it.”

Dean scoffs, groaning when Derek bits down on his throat. “Don’t care. I’ve slept in motel rooms most my life. Let’s go.”

Who is Derek to argue with his elder?

 

\---

Derek can hardly concentrate on the drive to his home. Dean keeps mouthing at his neck and chin, shoulder…Those lips are like something straight out of Playgirl, full and wet. Softer than anything in Derek’s proximity should ever be. And Dean’s smell--

He’s making Derek’s mouth water.

They make it finally, and Derek nearly rips off his door (and Dean’s) in his haste to get them out of the Camaro. He carries Dean – when Dean proves to them both that he can’t take two steps without needing to shove his hand down Derek’s pants.

And if it weren’t for how hot all that strength (and Derek) is, Dean would be mighty pissed. But they both know with how drunk Dean is, this is the fastest way for them both to get laid **.**

They only get as far as the first carpeted floor Derek can sniff out. Possibly the living room, possibly Derek’s old bedroom. Derek isn’t sure because Dean’s smell is surrounding him; he smells like so much promise and release, and so many things that Derek realizes now were missing on Kate’s skin. Dean is a good person, and this time Derek isn’t going to let him get too far. He can taste the eagerness, the earnestness, all over Dean.

Dean moves like he’s made of liquid and silk sheets, and completely unlike the way he walks and talks. It’s obvious he’s very experienced with seduction; Derek is jealous (of them). Why couldn’t Dean have driven through Beacon Hills sooner?

Dean wants to taste everywhere just as much as Derek, and lets Derek leave shallow teeth marks all over his unblemished skin. Hickeys are already crazy hot, but this – the Alpha fang marks skating over flesh and muscle, leaving tracks and scrapes and tiny slits – is a thing of beauty.

“Derek,” Dean grinds out. Derek’s hips thrust in close, rubbing their lengths together on each slow roll. “Fuck, Derek!”

Derek freezes above Dean, eyes changing back to blue. “Is something wrong? Am I going too fast?”

Dean could almost laugh; the Alpha male – literally – afraid that he’s being rejected. Who the fuck do the people in this town think they are to turn down Derek? Why else would someone this hot be insecure?

“No way. I was going to say--” Dean licks his lips. “--I really want you to fuck me, Derek.”

There’s a tremor to Derek’s voice, an underlying growl waiting to scrape out of his throat. He fights to keep it back. “We don’t have to--” Oh, but he _wants_ to.

“Dude, you let me drive your car around.” Dean grins, spreading his legs to give Derek more access. “Are you saying no?”

“Are you sure?” Derek’s claws are, for the most part, blunt when they scrape up the inside of Dean’s thigh.

“Come _on_ , man. Or I’ll change my mind.”

It’s a bluff, one that Derek can smell, but that’s the point. Dean is still grinning up at him, his lips cherry red without those nasty-tasting gloss products.

“Then, yes,” Derek grunts out, eyes ablaze.

Sheathing his claws right before grabbing hold of Dean’s cock, he jerks it in a tight fist, groaning every time Dean moans and bucks up into his hand.

Secretly, Dean’s been anxious to have someone inside him again. It’s nice enough to be on top and know that the girl – or guy, often enough – is writhing because you’re hitting all the right markers inside of them. But Dean is very, very drunk tonight; he just wants to sit back and let someone else do all the work. Derek is obviously the right person for that, because he’s making Dean writhe and squirm like he hasn’t in a long time.

Derek is more than ready to shove into Dean, but he can’t make his eyes go back to blue, and his claws keep springing out when they get close to Dean’s thighs. He needs to prep Dean, though, and he’ll have to find a way to do it without his claws getting in the way.

“Hold your legs,” Derek orders, his voice grating and gravel-rough.

“A little help might be--” Dean sees Derek digging his claws in the carpet. “Never mind.”

It’s a little frightening to not see what’s going to happen next, when there’s a half-beast thing dying to pound your brains out. The first press of tongue is so tentative, Dean can’t tell if he imagined it. He shivers, pulling his legs tighter to his chest.

“Did you--” Derek’s stubble rubs against his spread cheeks, tongue flat against Dean’s entrance. “Holy _fuck_!”

Derek growls, burying his face in the heat there, sucking and lapping, thrusting his tongue in again, and deeper, and Dean is shaking, limbs falling away from his grip. And Derek grapples for him, claws only a slight pain in Dean’s flesh as he throws Dean’s thighs around his waist.

The head of Derek’s cock barely breaches Dean, and he’s already searching for thoughts that will keep him from coming. Derek snarls when he smells the arousal spike in the air, needing to bury himself to the hilt, but he refuses to let the wolf take over. Dean squeezes his eyes shut, breathing in raggedly, and his heart pounding so fast he can’t even hear the howl Derek makes when he finally sinks all the way in. The stretch is amazing and barely painful, even without lube. But Derek insists on moving in slow rolls, stretching Dean properly around him, carefully lapping at the teeth marks he’s left on Dean’s stomach and chest.

“No, no, don’t. _Move_ , fuck. Do something. I don’t want to come because you’re chewing on my nipple, dude.”

Derek’s eyes go from red to burgundy, his fangs cutting into those juicy, pink lips that have had Dean half-hard all evening. And Dean knows he should be scared, should shut up, but he wants so bad for his pounding heart to be Derek’s dick in his ass, breaking him open all over the floor.

Dean is moving too much, swearing, beautifully open and eager to all of Derek. Experienced once again. Why does it bother Derek so much? Maybe it’s the full moon making him possessive of things he shouldn’t want to keep.

“Stop, Dean. I’ve never been with a man. And on the full moon…” He growls, forcing his body to listen to him; the wolf keeps trying to take over, to flip Dean on his stomach, and mount him until he keens.

Dean knows Derek is trying to calm him down, but he can’t help it. Something about the barely restrained heat behind Derek’s gaze, the shallow, jerky thrusts, and the claws ripping in the carpet just inches from Dean’s head has him grinding in for more. And Derek snarls, nothing but pure animalistic want in his crimson eyes, and-- Dean is shocked into coming. Arching up so sensually, smooth and sinewy, Derek loses his mind to the beast inside.

Derek latches on, rough, and Dean only urges him on by panting in his ear. He fucks into Dean, much more aggressively than he would any other day, but Dean is asking for it, eager for it. And he impales Dean over, and over, until he howls in a display of satisfaction to being obeyed, claws and teeth all out and slowly digging into golden, taut flesh.

When Derek finally comes, Dean somehow does, too, having gotten hard again along the way.

They both pass out, curled up on the warm carpet. And it’s easy for Dean to sleep, just like this. Dean doesn’t even need a blanket when Derek is a human heater. Well, not human exactly; that’s the appeal. Besides, Dean needs to sleep off the alcohol and the sex thrumming through his veins. And, from the way Derek is still inside him, his cock twitching but mostly soft now, Dean knows there’s no way he’ll be allowed to move to somewhere more comfortable.

 

\---

Derek wakes after an hour or two, and still has energy to burn – the full moon and all. He would prefer to have a round two of the most amazing sex he’s ever had, but Dean looks so peaceful. He drapes a blanket over him – _huh_ , they made it to Derek’s bedroom after all, not three feet from the bed – and leaves him on the ground to avoid waking him up.

 

\---

Derek goes to check on Stiles to make sure the angel isn’t trying to put the pieces of the human back together. Who knows if the pack got to Stiles before Castiel could interfere.

When he jumps up to the window he knows Stiles will be near - the bed is there, and it’s late – Castiel tightens his arms around Stiles. Still trying to keep all the werewolves away from the teenager. Derek can also smell what they’ve done; Stiles is going to pay for the dry cleaning tomorrow.

\---

Derek goes back to his house, and drags Dean in bed with him, so they can both sleep off the rest of the night. Dean only stirs slightly, but it’s to pull Derek in and nuzzle against the back of his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments appreciated. <3
> 
> and the next chapter is about what happens after the full moon. :)


	3. Flings and Baby Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all about the morning after, and all the weeks that follow.
> 
> Dean gets surprised with something, Sam does, too. And, hey, Castiel isn't a virgin anymore!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so there are a few things.
> 
> 1) There's a warning I need to put, because it squicks some people, but if I do, then it ruins the ending. (And no it isn't Wincest.) Please just trust me? It has to do with werewolves.
> 
> 2) Isaac/Jackson was a werewolf fling. It happens, okay? Wolves are easy during the full moon. That's a thing...I just invented.
> 
> 3) This is un-beta'd because...I'm lazy to look for someone.
> 
> 4) The whole Sam thing, I know people are going to ask for side stories. Maybe. Well, if you want it, ask for it. If not, then good. Less work for me. xD

In the morning, Dean ignores Sam’s nagging text messages and voicemails in favour of spending more quality time with Derek. Last night had been too fast, and Dean is actually sober enough to draw it out this morning. There are things he wants to try, like searching the inside of Derek’s mouth, getting a good, long taste of his cock…

Derek is a box of surprises though, and gives Dean the sexiest and most strangely intimate blowjob of his life, complete with swallowing and joint-showering.

Sam will have to wait a bit more.

 

\---

 

On Castiel’s end, he eats breakfast with Stiles – something Stiles made that’s healthy and _delicious_. Castiel forgot to ask what it is exactly. One after the other, the pack members make their way from the tunnel where they were chained and join them in the kitchen. They walk in, following the smell of food, some of them looking like zombies searching for brains.

Scott looks like he ran from somewhere far, his skin sweaty and flushed. Jackson and Isaac look like they have hangovers, matching dark circles under their eyes. Erica is too busy stuffing her face for Castiel to get a good view of her. Boyd is reading a newspaper, waiting for his coffee to percolate before eating, completely relaxed and pleased.

Stiles chews slowly, mouth too full to talk, but hands not quite occupied enough to keep his fingers from finding Castiel’s under the table.

Uncontrolled werewolves or not, Castiel is enjoying their company.

 

\---

Dean is in the middle of shoving his boots back on, Derek looking through his clothes for something that isn’t covered in spunk or cobwebs, when Castiel appears in front of Dean.

“I can return you to the Impala if you like.”

Castiel nods at Derek politely when he turns around, but he’s wearing the scowl of the century on his face.

Dean doesn’t get it. Derek was just laughing a second ago. Did he…want something else from Dean? What could Derek possibly expect from a travelling _hunter_? They had fun; it’s better to leave it at that before things get messy.

Dean tilts his head, raising a brow. “What’s up with you, man?”

Derek clears his throat and tugs on a shirt. He’d hoped they could hang out again today, maybe go for a ride in Dean’s car this time.  “Nothing. Have a safe trip.”

So, Dean leaves. And Derek pretends he isn’t disappointed.

**\---**

Dean drives Castiel back to the motel, neither of them sharing what they did the night before. It’s pointless for Dean to discuss it when Castiel has all those powers at his disposal; can probably see all the dirty things Dean’s reliving in his mind. _God_ , Derek is an amazing lay. A great guy, too. He could even rival Dr. Sexy if Dean knew him better.

Castiel sits there quietly, unaware of Dean’s pornographic slideshow, as he contemplates what Stiles had said before he left. _Come visit any time, Cas. I’ll miss you._ Castiel doesn’t intend to stay away for long. They have much to discuss and experience together.

Dean smirks, considering if he’d want to see Derek again. The answer’s yes. He’s decent enough that maybe even Sam would like him.

Castiel intends to return whenever he can; Dean will just have to learn how to wait his turn. Or however humans say it.

When they finally get back to the motel, Sam looks awful. He says he was texting them both all night, worrying they’d been killed, but Dean thinks up a lie to cover both his and Castiel’s ass.

“Dude, we were chasing werewolves. This town is full of underage ones.”

Sam looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel, have a heart attack, and suffocate Dean in a hug at the same time. So, Castiel chimes in.

“It was not difficult, Sam. Dean and I were sufficient. Do not worry.”

Dean grins at Castiel, winking. _Nice one, man._ Castiel’s lip twitches up in response.

And Sam pretends he doesn’t see their _profound bond_ on display. He’s not going to be the one to say ‘I told you say’ when he asks where they were, and they admit to having sex with each other in a park or something.

\---

Stiles sends Castiel text messages about how he’s finally an official pack member, but that it doesn’t change the way Derek treats him. He’s still being slammed into walls, and chased around like cattle when Derek needs Stiles to distract the pack.

Sometimes Castiel asks questions about Stiles and his school life; if he’s found a girl he’d like to be involved with perhaps. Stiles always answers with one of two things: _the girl I liked is in love with Jackson, and Jackson is too busy being in love with himself to care_ or _I really just want to be with you, Cas_. More often than not, it’s the second response. Castiel is glad he could have that effect on someone as intelligent and kind as Stiles.

Dean asks Castiel if he can relay messages to Derek once in a while. Never anything too serious or personal enough that Dean would be embarrassed to let the angel send it to Stiles. Dean has an image to keep up, you know. Regardless of how much he thinks about Derek when he tries to be with other people. ( _Try_ being the key word; it hasn’t happened yet.)

Sam catches on, and says he’d like to meet the pack they were talking about. Dean almost passes out, and Castiel turns pasty white, but they agree. Hopefully, none of them say anything that will reveal their lies.

 

\---

 

“So you’re Sam? Dean told me about you,” Derek says politely, shaking his hand.

Stiles scoffs; the gruff attitude always seems to be reserved for him. What does he do to rub Derek the wrong way, seriously? Jackson is the one who tore up the den again last week.

Sam is afraid at first; four Betas all come toward him at once. But when he sees Castiel and Stiles chatting in a corner – not paying attention, like the wolves are just regular teens without special abilities – he calms down.

Dean and Derek bump shoulders and chit-chat about nothing and everything, Derek fetching them beers, and trying his hardest not to lean closer to Dean and his succulent smell right in front of Sam. Dean wouldn’t like that; Derek knows him well enough to figure that out.

There’s noses sniffing, scoffing, eyes glowing gold and blue, and Sam is about to push them away and try to run outside--

“I like you, Sam,” Erica announces, Boyd’s arm slung around her waist. “You smell like a good guy.” Boyd squeezes her in a show of claim, dragging her in close. He nods, grins, and adds, “You should hang out with us sometimes. We’re not that bad when the full moon isn’t around.”

Jackson is sniffing behind Sam, standing on the tips of his toes, trying to scent Sam’s hair and neck, and broad shoulders. He grumbles out, “You smell _really_ good. You should join our pack. You’re much better than Stilinski.”

Isaac grins, circling around Sam a few times, trying not to get in Jackson’s way when he reaches the back. “I agree with them. You seem like you’d fit in.”

Sam clears his throat when manicured hands press on his shoulders; he bends down to let Jackson keep sniffing. “Thanks, I guess? I could do that.” He shivers when Jackson’s tongue darts out, licking his nape. “I wouldn’t be able to visit much, though.”

He feels a graze of teeth against his neck, and his knees almost give out, so he straightens back up. At a safer distance, away from the werewolf who acts more like a vampire. Jackson growls behind him, trailing his hands down Sam’s back.

“You can ask the angel to bring you,” Jackson suggests. Erica and Boyd smile, nodding. Isaac grins, giving Sam a knowing look.

They can smell that Sam is close to saying yes, can’t they? He’s always had problems with staying away from supernatural creatures. Maybe because he feels like one of them most of the time.

Nails scrape down the small of his back, and Sam swallows, glad he could keep the whimper from sneaking out. What is _with_ this Jackson kid?

Stiles whispers something in Castiel’s ear, and they both come to Sam’s rescue. Stiles tugs at Jackson’s arm gently; Jackson growling but obeying for no other reason than because his Alpha is nearby. Castiel stands between Sam and the other Betas, wondering where Scott is.

Scott pushes through the front door, barrelling down the stairs. “Who smells like candy apples and cinnamon?” His eyes widen when he notices the giant man standing in the middle of the pack, making Jackson’s eyes flutter closed and open like he’s in heat. “It’s you, isn’t it?” Scott nearly trips on his way to the man. He turns to Castiel and Stiles, “Is he a friend?”

Castiel nods, and Stiles says, “He’s not just a friend. He’s an honorary member of the pack.”

Scott sniffs the air, humming. He has no objection to that. “Nice to meet you…”

“Sam,” Sam says stiffly, ignoring the way Jackson’s eyes trail down his body when he circles around to the front. He holds out a hand for Scott to take, but Jackson bares his fangs.

“You can’t claim him, Jacks! He’s not interested!”

Jackson snarls, eyes flashing clear blue. “Don’t tell me what to do, Scott! I can claim who I want! I’m right below the Alpha!”

Sam looks back and forth between them, wondering if he should be worried about being claimed. Probably. Except … no one else looks worried. Dean and Derek are still joking, laughing, kind of gravitating to each other. Well, that explains a lot. Stiles whispers something in Castiel’s ear again, and Sam doesn’t miss the tiny kiss he gives Castiel before looking over at Sam. Busted.

“I have a say in the matter, right?” Sam cuts in, and all of the teens gape at Sam. “I’ll decide if I want to be claimed or not once I know you guys better. Okay?”

Scott sputters, and Jackson beams like Sam has already accepted.

“But for now, we have to be somewhere.” Sam watches Castiel frown, and looks over at Dean, who is completely oblivious. They don’t want to leave yet; Sam’s not going to force them. Even though they’re a couple of liars, and deserve to do all the research themselves. “Well, I have to do some research. Take care, guys.”

Jackson calls after Sam, “Wait, I can help. What kind of research?”

Sam gently holds Jackson back when he reaches out to touch Sam’s chest. “The boring kind. Go hang out with your pack, people your own age. I’ll come visit you guys before we leave tomorrow.”

Jackson reaches out again, but Sam doesn’t stop walking.

Angry that he’s been refused, Jackson stalks off to the back room, shoving everyone aside on his way there. The Betas go out for some supper, but Jackson doesn’t answer when they ask if he wants them to bring him something back. Meanwhile, Stiles and Castiel play video games, while Dean and Derek knock back a few more beers.

Dean notices after a couple of hours that Sam is gone, and curses under his breath.

“Dammit. Sorry, Derek. I need to go help Sam with the case we’re working on. I’ll see you around.”

Derek smiles at that, allowing himself to touch Dean’s arm now that Sam is gone. “It was nice seeing you again.”

There’s a flutter in Dean’s chest - which, what the fuck? This isn’t some rom-com where Dean sees stars in Derek’s eyes, and feels butterflies in his stomach. There wouldn’t be werewolves in rom-coms. And definitely not a hot, dominant Alpha one with lips that taste as good as they look. Why he is staring at Derek’s mouth again?

Clearing his throat, Dean says, “Yeah. Same. Later.” He pats Derek on the shoulder, and something shoots through him, right under his skin. Derek’s brows are furrowed, so he must have felt it, too.

Why does it feel like Dean is leaving something important behind this time around?

 

\---

Castiel’s goodbye is brief because he intends to visit a lot more often than Dean will (and can).

 

Stiles is thankful for Castiel’s angelic powers all over again; he gets to see Castiel before bed or early in the morning, or when he’s having a shitty day. Whenever he texts ‘I miss you’ or ‘come over’, Castiel usually shows up. When he doesn’t, Stiles doesn’t take it personally. He’s an angel, and he’s friends with hunters who save people across the country. It’s not a big deal. Besides, Castiel always makes it up to him one way or another.

The first time Stiles got his mouth on Castiel’s cock, he blew his load within five seconds. It’s funny to Stiles – a teenager with no sexual experience beyond the handjob Castiel gave him - for an Angel of the Lord, wise, beautiful and old, to have pre-mature ejaculation problems just like him. Castiel doesn’t find it as amusing, though.

They’ll be in the middle of playing Halo, and Castiel will make Stiles’s pants and boxers disappear, and swallow his cock like it’s his Call of Duty. Stiles can’t last very long even if he’d like to; Castiel picks up new things like a sponge. He must have been watching porn or something lately to make up for how fast he always comes when Stiles gets his mouth on him.

The good thing about these surprise blowjobs (or handjobs) is that they’re always amazing, and meaningful, because it’s Castiel. The bad thing? Sometimes Scott won’t stop smelling Stiles afterward, and blurts out – in front of people who aren’t the pack – that Stiles had sex. His dad is starting to ask questions, getting irritated when Stiles says the person is shy.

Castiel _is_ kind of shy, but he’s also in the shape of a thirty year old guy to make matters worse. Dad won’t care if there’s an angel underneath that skin because all he’ll see is the stubble and suit – and throw on some handcuffs.

It's just another short visit, but Castiel is at Stiles's mercy. Stiles swallows when Castiel spills down his throat again – after a minute this time; he’s getting better – and Castiel pulls him up to chase the taste like they always do. It’s kind of disgusting to some people, but Stiles likes Castiel enough to ignore their opinions. Also, it makes Stiles feel less like a blushing virgin. They've been having a lot of sex lately.

 

\---

Everything seems to be going okay.

 

Sometimes Sam disappears with Castiel to visit the pack, and Derek leaves a message with them for Dean. It’s nothing too serious; nothing that will make Dean feel like they’re getting too close or moving too fast. It’s just what it is. And what it is – is _comfortable_. Derek is easy to get along with – once you’ve dealt with someone as intense as Castiel, anyone else would be easier – and he’s really human. Sometimes more than Dean is.

And he seems fine with the occasional message or phone call, or at least Dean hopes he is.

But then Dean starts feeling weird every once in a while, especially right after he’s spoken to Derek on the phone. It’s not a big deal or anything, it’s just never happened before. Dean figures out how to fix it, at least. Usually a nice, easy drive, a shit-ton of alcohol and an inhuman amount of hamburgers cures it.

It’s like Dean’s having withdrawal or something, maybe male PMS.

Then, after a few weeks, Sam points out the fang marks that didn’t quite go away like the others. They’re just staying there, healed of course, but thick and jagged enough to worry Dean. Plus, Dean’s starting to get a beer gut or something. Which – _how_? He doesn’t binge drink or stuff his face that much more than usual, does he?

And – _holy shit_. Dean hopes that doesn’t mean what he thinks it does.

\---

Dean makes Castiel bring him to Derek when they have some time off. Sam follows along just to keep Jackson from threatening Stiles’s life, like he did the last time Sam didn’t show up.

 

(“You told Sam something about me, didn’t you? Told him I used to be a mindless Kanima, right? I will eat your liver with a side of greens, Stiles. I don’t care what you have to say, make him come back. I want to see him.”)

 

Castiel is happy to oblige, wanting to spend more time with Stiles. And he disappears as soon as he leaves Dean with Derek.

 

\---

 

Derek is in the middle of washing rabbit blood off his hands when he hears the tell-tall flutter of wings. “Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Dean crosses his arms, sighing.

Derek turns around, feeling the tension all around Dean. And the bit of…something else. It seems like a scent Derek should be able to recognize, but Dean’s smell is still much stronger. He can’t tell what it is.

“What’s wrong?”

Dean pulls the collar of his shirt down, revealing the fang marks still displayed across his collarbone. They look deeper than they should be; are deeper than all the rest were, because those have faded already.

Derek just stands there, his hands dripping water on the floor. Not sure if it’s worse that he did that, or if another werewolf did. He’ll decide once Dean stops scowling.

“I feel really…hungry. Which is normal for me, but I also feel kind of stronger, louder, faster. And that doesn’t go with aging or my lifestyle. I should know.”

Derek swallows.

Dean continues, after narrowing his eyes. “I can’t stop sweating when my brother puts on the heat, or when it’s cold enough that he needs a freakin’ scarf. And I feel nauseated almost all the time now – when I’m not busy inhaling burgers.”

Derek is very quiet – which is not unusual for him, really, but still. He searches Dean for anger, but all he sees is worry, hope, the beginnings of a bond Dean isn’t ready to break off yet. Dean is the last person Derek would want to drive away, and lying or denying Dean the truth will do that.

He takes a deep breath, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I think…I turned you by accident.” Then he adds, hoping to make Dean feel better, “The only possible cure I’ve heard of is killing the Alpha – me.”

Dean can’t help but shout a little, but something makes him try to hold it in. He turns his back to Derek, pacing around the kitchen.

He really likes Derek, and he’s a good guy. He’s probably a great leader, too, since there haven’t been any reports of animal attacks in the area. Dean can’t kill him. There’s no reason to. Even following the hunter code, Derek isn’t guilty of anything that Dean could kill him for.

Derek looks afraid when Dean glances over at him; he’s not sure if Dean’s going to do it or not. And _Jesus Christ_ , is Dean that scary? Do people actually think he’s that bad? That’s right, Derek isn’t human.

At least…Being a werewolf can’t be as bad as being a vampire, though, right?

“Fine. I’ll deal with it.” Derek visibly relaxes at Dean’s response. Derek takes a step closer, eyes flashing to red when he scents the air.  Then he’s leaning in, brows knit. Dean sighs. “Why do I feel like that’s not all of it?”

Derek touches Dean’s stomach, and even through the plaid shirt, the undershirt, beautiful, enticing skin, muscles, bones and blood, he feels _it_. A tiny, steady heartbeat reacts to the touch of its father.

Derek’s smiling like he’s never dreamed he could, not since the fire. There’s a baby werewolf growing inside Dean, sharing both their bloodlines. They did that – even if it was accidental.

And Dean knows that look. Has seen it everywhere, all over the country, every time people are in love or – or...

“Son of a _bitch_! I’m pregnant, aren’t I?” Suddenly, a flash of all the whiskey and burgers he’s been consuming comes to mind. God, this child is going to be _ruined_.

 

\---

Stiles has Castiel spread out on his bed, nothing but trembling, bare skin all under Stiles’s control. Castiel’s eyes are closed like he’s in pain, but every time Stiles finds that little button and presses against it, strokes his finger on it, Castiel spasms and his mouth falls open on a soft cry.

“How have you learned to do that?” Castiel asks, shaking when Stiles darts his tongue inside of Castiel, rolling it against the greedy muscles.

“I was opening myself up one day--” Stiles drags his fingers out, sucking on them, and pushing back in. The muscles squeeze against him, and Stiles presses the heel of his other hand against his cock. He is harder than he has the right to be; this is about Castiel.

Castiel whimpers, eyes fluttering shut, one arm hanging off the bed. His nails scrape against Stiles’s carpet. “Yes?”

“And I was trying to see how far my fingers could go, how good it would feel with you inside me,” Stiles murmurs. His tongue curls inside Castiel alongside his finger, stretching him just a bit wider. He breathes through his nose, teeth pressing against the rim of Castiel’s entrance. Why does he smell so pure even here?

“And then?” Castiel prompts, his legs falling open wider, shaking. Castiel wants Stiles to penetrate him, but the idea of being inside of Stiles is just as appealing. His cock, lying flat against his stomach, jerks when Stiles finds his prostate and rubs against it. Castiel’s grace nearly explodes out of him. “Please, Stiles. I don’t think I can take much more.”

“And then I found this perfect, little, spot.” Stiles rubs his finger inside Castiel, carefully circling around the place that will make him spasm again. “And I knew you’d want to learn about it, too.”

Stiles pushes another finger inside, scissoring them, and Castiel arches up, body struggling against the new sensation boiling under his skin, driving him mad, and Stiles pushes against Castiel’s prostate over and over, tongue lapping sloppily at the pre-come sliding out of Castiel’s cock –

_“Son of a bitch! I’m pregnant, aren’t I?”_

Castiel screams, ripping through part of the sheets as Stiles’s fingers drive into him, and warm lips wrap around the tip of his cock. Stiles always says how he wants to taste all of it and not waste a thing. And that thought is repeating in Castiel’s head, like a sensual mantra.

There’s silence for a few seconds. Castiel isn’t sure if he knows how to work the muscles, joints and bones of his vessel anymore. Is this how it always is during sex? How does humanity survive it? Some of them must surely die during the act.

Stiles is laughing softly, kissing along the shaft of Castiel’s cock. “Hey, Cas. Welcome back to the land of the living.” He strokes Castiel’s thigh, his fingers pressing in possessively. It warms something in Castiel’s chest. “Do you think you can get hard again? I really want you to fuck me while we have the house to ourselves.”

Castiel leans up on his elbows, drawing Stiles in for a noisy, wet kiss. Stiles tastes like he’s been eating lollipops all day, or perhaps actual fruit. Ah, yes. They discussed that – the correlation between diet and the flavour of semen. Stiles is ever the considerate, young man.

“I would very much like to, but can you wait a moment? I believe I have to speak to Dean first.”

Stiles shakes his head, pressing the bulge in his pants into Castiel’s hip. “Don’t make me wait too long or I’ll start without you.”

“I promise it will only be a short interruption.” He rubs at the nape of Stiles’s neck, tries for soothing but it seems to urge Stiles on. He ruts against Castiel, whimpering when clothes appear, and block the friction he’d found.

“I hate when you do that.”

Castiel presses a kiss to Stiles’s temple, and untangles their limbs. “Before I go, I have to tell you: your pack leader is going to be a father.” Stiles falls out of bed.

 

\---

Castiel pops back in, looking disheveled, probably from having been in the middle of something with Stiles…Dean does _not_ want to picture that.

“Congratulations, Dean. You will make an exemplary parent.” Castiel pats Dean on the back awkwardly. The jolt of something tingles along Dean’s skin – just like every time Castiel has healed Dean in the past - and he disappears with a flutter of wings.

Dean sputters and swears like a sailor, threatening to kill Castiel if he ever comes back looking like he’s just been sucked to within an inch of his life. And, _fuck_ , why does Dean do this to himself? Goddamn angels and their bullshit. And now werewolves are ruining his life.

Scratch that.

He’s ruining his own life!

Sam’s never going to let him hear the end of this. Whatever. Hopefully that Jackson kid will become Alpha one day, and Sam will have his own were-baby, so he won’t be able to say a _damn_ thing.

Petty? Who ever said Dean wasn’t petty?

 

\---

Fortunately, Stiles took that time to strip out of his clothes and breathe. He doesn't want to be worrying about raising were-babies when he's finally going to lose his boy-ginity to Castiel. He keeps thinking about Castiel, and his lips, his beautiful eyes, his deep voice, and suddenly the news just slips into the background. He's so hard he can't even remember how to be his usual spastic self.

When Castiel arrives behind him, Stiles is bent over and trying to flatten out his comforter, Castiel doesn’t worry about getting hard again. He already is.

“I have…returned.”

Stiles startles a bit, but quickly composes himself. He falls back on his bed, legs spread in an invitation he hopes Castiel will take. “Did it go well?” He grips his cock, licking his lips when Castiel’s eyes scan his body like Stiles is one of the seven world wonders.

“Yes.” Castiel steps forward, his clothing disappearing one piece at a time for Stiles’s viewing pleasure. He always complains that Castiel gets undressed too quickly. The last item disappears, falling in a pile across the room, and Castiel is naked.

Stiles grins at Castiel’s renewed arousal bobbing between his legs. “Are you going to concentrate on me now?” He strokes his cock, putting his feet flat against the bed, everything on display for Castiel.

“I promise.” Castiel makes the bed dip when his knees press on it. He trails kisses up Stiles’s leg, and down his thigh, careful not to disrupt the movement of Stiles’s hand on his cock. “What would you like first?”

Stiles throws his head back, moaning Castiel’s name. “I can’t wait. I need you inside me.”

Castiel presses soft kisses to Stiles’s stomach and chest, tongue dragging over his pebbled nipples. He bites down on one experimentally, and Stiles gasps, hips bucking up. That is something he can file away for later use.

Stiles’s eyes are naturally dark, but they turn to ebony when Castiel’s fingertips circle Stiles’s entrance. “I must prepare you first, yes?”

Stiles feels his cock twitching in his grip, and he lets go, sucking on his fingers as a distraction. The image is just too much; Castiel kneeling between his legs, pushing a spit-slick finger in his ass, constantly kissing him wherever he can reach – it will be over a lot sooner than it should be if Stiles doesn’t look elsewhere.

“If you release the pent-up tension, I can take my time penetrating you afterward,” Castiel offers, head bobbing in Stiles’s lap.

Stiles keens, thrusting his hips in harshly because he knows he can; knows Castiel likes it when he lets go of his inhibitions. He nods, ungracefully pushing his cock down Castiel’s throat. And when Castiel swallows, works the muscles, squeezes around him – like Castiel’s ass squeezed around his fingers – Stiles explodes in his mouth, smearing white all over his lips and tongue.

“I will find proper lubricant while you recover,” Castiel says, placing a chaste kiss to the tip of Stiles’s cock. He sucks the remnants of his lips. “Strawberries?”

Stiles laughs, feeling boneless, and luckier now than he has in any other point in time. He gets to have his own _angel_. A funny, selfless, open-minded angel with the ability to make Stiles come in his pants if he tries hard enough. What more could you possibly want?

\---

Derek stands there uncomfortably; he jerks his hand away from Dean’s stomach even though that’s the last thing he wanted to do. Dean rolls his eyes at Derek’s depressingly young, hopeful look, and places Derek’s hand back on his stomach.

Dean is going to regret this in the near future – if not because of the werewolf thing, then because of the baby thing – but…

“Winchesters never do anything half-assed. When we jump into something, it’s all the way. Guess you’re stuck with me, dude.”

Dean smirks at Derek’s dumbstruck look, feeling warm and cozy with his…What’s this supposed to be called exactly? They’d never put a label on what they had; it wasn’t really something Dean thought needed a title. And baby-daddy just doesn’t seem to cut it.

Derek smiles, crookedly. The way he only does for Dean. “Do you want to know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

Dean tugs Derek’s wrist until they’re much closer, lips barely inches apart. Derek breathes in, closing his eyes. Dean whispers in Derek’s ear, “Nah, I’ve had enough news for one day. But, how much have you missed me?” Derek’s chest rumbles in response, and Dean knows he’s going to like this.

 

They can just be them. Label not required.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments appreciated. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments appreciated. <3


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